


Oh Come All Ye Faithful

by covenofthearticulate



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Claudia just wants Santa to bring her a new set of parents tbh, I'm not religious so sorry if I fucked anything up, Louis is just so Hardcore Catholic it's unavoidable at this point, VC Christmas exchange, vague religious references??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21933811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/covenofthearticulate/pseuds/covenofthearticulate
Summary: Claudia has to break it to her parents that she doesn’t believe in Santa Claus anymore. They don’t take it very well.Alternatively: Louis shows Claudia a deeper meaning to Christmas after a predictable trainwreck.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Oh Come All Ye Faithful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JadedCreole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedCreole/gifts).



> So, here is my 2019 VC Secret Santa gift for @Jadedcreole on tumblr! I have to admit, this isn't my finest work, but it was nevertheless a joy to write! It came out a bit more angsty than I originally intended (which I should have seen coming, honestly), but I wanted to give an interesting look into Claudia's complicated relationship with Louis and Lestat. Hope you like it!

December 24th, 5 p.m.

She was waking earlier and earlier now; almost as early as Lestat. Her body had adjusted well to the Blood, and it seemed that with each passing night she only blossomed more fully into the divine creature she was destined to be. But even the most vibrant of blossoms could not withstand the bitter chill of winter, and each holiday season, Claudia felt a bit of her perfect porcelain façade begin to crack.

She used to love Christmas. Really, how could she not? With two doting fathers and an inconceivable amount of money, her Christmases were spent in a flurry of splendor. Each room was trimmed with fresh garlands and wreaths, and it seemed like every surface was covered in brilliant reds or rich emerald greens. The tablecloths, the imported rugs, the satin bed sheets covering the one piece of furniture she would never need; it was all crimson, per Lestat’s request.

And oh, how Lestat had taught her to love the season. She could not possibly imagine a Christmas without his thunderous voice ringing through their little flat, warbling a strange mixture of carols, most in French, some in English, and some even in Italian. He was always in a jolly mood this time of year, so much so that it was infectious.

Even Louis, who refused to hunt or socialize with them, would come home most evenings with a pleasant smile upon seeing his lover and daughter seated at the piano, or hanging more décor around the parlour. He looked so beautiful, this time of year. While Lestat thrived in the spring and summer, it was Louis, his perfect foil, whose delicate beauty was simply meant for such cold winter nights. Every night it was the same; she and Lestat would head out early, eager for the hunt and ready for a night of adventure, while Louis chose to wake slowly and slip quietly into the evening at his own pace. He would go out later, but the highlight of Claudia’s nights was always the same; she lived for the moments where she could catch Louis on his way in to the apartment, hands tucked into his pockets and brow furrowed in thought as he let his feet fall with a human weight against the creaky wooden steps. The fresh pink blush that blossomed beneath his porcelain skin never failed to take her breath away, and each night, much to Lestat’s chagrin, she was all too happy to drop everything in her hands and run to greet her father at the door, who was all to happy to catch her in his arms and twirl her around in a tight embrace, enveloping her in his newfound warmth.

But despite the jubilance of the season, Claudia couldn’t help but feel distanced from it all. She has always known that they were liminal beings, destined to skate on the outer edges of life, teetering on the brink of the known and unknown. They were living (or not-living) paradoxes, and yet, no amount of Louis’ philosophical queries or Lestat’s adamant tutelage could fill the hole in the very pit of her soul. For, as wise as they both acted, her fathers refused to see the cancerous growth of the conflict at the center of her existence.

But Claudia saw it. Every year she saw it, when strangers on the street told her to hurry along home, to be good for _Père Noël._ She saw it in her doll-like reflection as she stared into the windows of the toyshops and dress shops, trying to remember that fleeting joy she once felt at the sight of such cheap novelty. Each year, she felt less and less like herself; her own body became a claustrophobic trap as she stood on the borderline of multiple crossroads. She could handle the holiday season as a blood drinker. But to navigate Christmas as a young woman with a child’s body was becoming more and more unbearable.

“Papa?” Claudia mumbles as she clings to her father’s shoulder with one arm, the other outstretched in order to hang a silver bell on the highest branch she can reach.

“Yes?” Louis answers with patience as he balances her petite frame on his hip before reaching down to retrieve the next ornament from their box.

“What did Père Noël bring you when you were little?”

Lips pursed, Louis pauses his movements as he tries to remember that time long since past. He can’t remember much, really. He can remember the overflowing banquet, he can remember his sister’s pretty green dress, he can remember his brother’s toy sword poking at his ribcage. But even as a child, Louis was simple and easy to please. He had never wanted much, but was always happy with what he got. Nothing too extraordinary.

“I believe I got a very nice toy boat one year. And a silver watch with my name on it.”

“Oh. What about you, Lestat?

“I didn’t have Père Noël where I was. We didn’t get presents in my house.” Lestat’s voice is cool, void of emotion, as he focuses on setting the new table arrangement.

“…oh.”

“Well now,” Louis has mastered the art of cutting the tension. “Enough about us; we are too old now. What would _you_ like from Père Noël this year?”

Letting out a small sigh, Claudia turns back to her father with a furrowed brow.

“Am I not too old, as well?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, _cherie._ ” Lestat interrupts, walking over to press a firm kiss to Claudia’s forehead before gently tucking a spare bow into her hair. “If you do not ready your slippers soon, you won’t have _anything_ for Christmas, will you? Come now, you must get everything set before sunrise. Hurry along.”

She huffs in response, the way she always does, when she is discontent but unwilling to start a full argument. She lets out another annoyed growl as she slides down Louis’ torso back to the ground, but obediently walks to the fireplace to set out her best pair of silk slippers for Père Noël, before marching straight to her room

* * *

“No.” Louis’ voice is stern, as it often is with Lestat, when they are alone. “Why shouldn’t we get her something useful? Something that she can keep and learn from and-”

“-And stick on the shelf to collect cobwebs along with her other presents?” Lestat raised a brow as he leaned beside the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest in a stubbornly petulant pose.

“As opposed to what? Another doll for the shelf? Another dress?” Louis refuses to look at him and instead he aggressively dresses the tree.

“ _Mon dieu_ , something pretty! Something to make her feel beautiful and special and _happy._ I cannot stand that dreary existential nonsense you’re putting in her head these days, she’s too young. Even tonight she was in a sour mood. You make her think too much, Louis, I swear.”

“She’s too young to be a _killer,_ Lestat, and yet every night you go out and you tutor her, you teach her to revel in the kill, to make sport of each victim, and I detest you for it. I will not have her learning such things from you without at least encouraging her to think for herself.”

Lestat was pinching the bridge of his nose before Louis had even finished his first sentence. “ _Je sais, je sais, deja vu_ ,” He sighed with a shake of his head.

Every night, it was the same argument. Well, perhaps not the _same_ argument, for over the course of the last few nights it had evolved into a festive version of the same bitterness and resentment as ever.

“Buy her another dress yourself, but such vanity will _not_ be encouraged by…by _Père Noël.”_

“Well I won’t allow _Père Noël_ to gift our daughter with another book of dense, rambling poetry either.”

“We’ll compromise, then.”

“Oh, we’ll _compromise!_ Really, Louis. You say this every year, and every year what do we end up doing? We end up buying her a million damn presents to make up for our indecision.”

“She already has everything she could ever want. Do you think we’re spoiling her?”

“Of course we are. She’s spoiled rotten, Louis.”

“Well then perhaps we ought to-“

“To what? Not get her presents on _Christmas_? Tell her that her dearly beloved fathers are incapable of- ”

“No, no, _let me finish what I’m saying!_ Perhaps it’s time to tell her that…Père Noël is not real.”

“Darling, you really think she hasn’t figured it all out?”

“What? You heard her, just now! She’s still young, still curious.”

“She’s doubtful, Louis. She has been for some time now. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is time.”

* * *

“May we come in?” Louis asks as he stands in the doorway to Claudia’s room, never once forgetting his etiquette.

She’s laying in bed, atop a mountain of pillows, reading a book that makes Louis flash a small triumphant smile in Lestat’s direction. Before long, they are both seated on either side of her, Lestat’s arm curling around her shoulder as he pulls her into an embrace, while Louis sits a bit more stiffly against the headboard, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“We couldn’t help but note your… _curiosity_ earlier, regarding a certain holiday tradition.”

She says nothing, only looking up at him with a raised brow. It’s a common tactic she uses; best not to interrupt when Lestat is clearly working up to a larger ramble.

“Well, it’s come to our attention that you might be wondering…since you are no longer a little girl-“

“ _I’m twenty three.”_

“-Yes.”

“I know Père Noël doesn’t exist.”

Her words drop like a dead weight, leaving both of her fathers speechless for a moment.

“That’s preposterous.” Now it is Louis’ turn to speak, though he has no idea what he’s saying. All he knows is that, though he knew this day was inevitable, he is not ready to let go. Not yet. It’s true, Claudia is not a little girl anymore, but the last nineteen Christmases of his life had been more magical than he could have ever dreamed, and he was not willing to watch it all burn, just because of some silly childhood fantasy. He sat up a little more, frantically glancing between his daughter and his lover as his brain scrambled for an explanation.

“What?” Claudia and Lestat echo at the same time.

“I said that’s preposterous! Of course he exists.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Lestat hisses, clearly upset over Louis’ departure from their script.

“He…he is one of us. Isn’t he, Lestat?”

Lestat’s eyes bulge wide when he’s suddenly pulled into things. Watching Louis flounder on his own had been amusing, but it wasn’t quite as fun when he realized that decades of fragile trust were now resting at his fingertips. He knows that the magic in Claudia’s heart has died long ago. But the choice is his now to make: he can stand with his daughter and put a stop to this once and for all, or he can side with his lover, whose desperate, emotional plead reminded Lestat of the very reason he fell in love with this bleeding heart so many years ago. It was a tug-of-war for Claudia’s past and all it stood for, and Lestat was caught in the middle. Either they dig their heels into the dirt and spend another Christmas with false smiles and stubborn ignorance, or they let their lives shatter, and somehow paste together the pieces to form a new family, a new Claudia, a new dynamic where Claudia is no longer a child but an equal.

“…yes, of course.” He was an undead thing, yes, but Lestat knew, from the moment those words exited his mouth, that he had just dug his own grave.

“That is why he only visits children in the evening. And how he can travel the whole world in one night.” Though Louis had lost his conviction halfway through his scrambled excuse, the desperation in his eyes nearly broke Claudia’s heart.

_Nearly._

“Of course.” Claudia echoes, staring up at her father’s with a cold, cruel smile. The hallow laugh that rips free from the back of her tiny throat is equally unsettling, and for a moment, the two elder vampires are frozen in place, transfixed with her every movement. “Yes, of course. And Jack Frost, is he also a blood drinker? What about the Sandman? And while we’re at it-“

“That’s enough, Claudia.” Louis coos in his soft voice, a natural father-like instinct that he uses to de-escalate any situation.

“ _Is it, Louis?!_ It wasn’t enough for you to accept that I’ve outgrown a bedtime story for children, but you have the _audacity_ to lie to me, to tell me this figment is _one of us_ when you refuse to tell me what we are in the first place?! Was it not enough to damn me in this body? You cannot keep me a child any longer, and you cannot rely on my naivate to fuel your lies and erase your heartbreak. “ Her voice was shrill as she leapt from the bed and stomped toward the doorway.

“You started this mess, Louis! Go fix it!” Lestat was quick to shove at Louis’ shoulders, pushing him out of bed and sending him stumbling towards the door.

“Claudia!”

He doesn’t dare touch her, but he follows her out to the balcony. He shuts the doors behind them and suddenly finds the two of them in a world of their own as the dark winter night engulfs them. He takes a moment to pull back his hair, staring at the petite silhouette by the railing.

“ _Mon coeur…_ ” is all he can whisper at first. “You are right. As always, you are right.”

He places a hand on her shoulder, but the instant he feels her stiffen, he pulls away, and instead takes a knee on the cold ground beside her. Though she refuses to meet his eyes, he stares at her nonetheless as he attempts to chip away at her icy exterior with every word.

“It was foolish of me to believe you would want to play this game forever. And it’s been even more foolish of me to lose sight of the meaning of Christmas. It isn’t about the presents. In fact, when I was a child, we only got one small present after Mass, if we were well behaved, and-“ He interrupts his own train of thought. “-Claudia, will you come for a walk with me?”

She is slow to respond, still stewing in residual anger and resentment, but her curiosity gets the better of her, and when she finally turns to face him, she does so with a raised brow and a set lip.

“Where to?”

“Follow me.”

He grabs her coat before she can protest and ushers her back inside the flat, through the living room and foyer and down the front steps out to the street.

The streets were empty this evening, save for the few stragglers finishing up their holiday shopping, and as Louis’ heels crunched against the ice that lined the cobblestoned streets, he kept a quick and steady course down Rue Royale. He could sense that Claudia had caught on to his plans, though her little footsteps kept in time with his for nearly the entire journey. The only time she slowed was when she saw the Cathedral, in all its glory.

She had been inside before, of course. But never with Louis, and never during service. The first time she had wandered in was not long after she was born into Darkness. She had been young and curious, and completely in awe of the grand architecture. Each subsequent visit had been a study of sorts. Louis had made her read the Bible, cover to cover, in English and French. She knew the stories, and she knew the rules and regulations of the Church. But religion was still so foreign to her. It was not something that ran through her veins as it did with Louis, nor did it vex her in the way it did Lestat. And no matter how many hours she had spent observing the services, opening herself up to each homily and hymn, she simply could not invest any meaning into any of it.

“We’re just on time. Come now,” Louis gestures towards the doors, but then gently rests a hand on her shoulder as he reads the hesitation in her expression. “All I ask is that you sit and listen. That’s all. You are free to leave whenever you like.”

The rows of pews were already filled by the time they had arrived, but all Louis had to do was glance at some young lonely gentleman in the corner, and the seat was all theirs. It was second nature for Louis to sit down first and offer his lap to Claudia, but this time she was hesitant to sit with him. For a moment, she debated on whether or not to simply stand in the aisle, but as the room fell to silence and some man began to speak, she chose not to fight against the arms that drew her in close and hoisted her up until her back was pressed against the familiar form of his chest.

“I’ve never had anyone come with me, you see. I come here, every year.” His whisper is lighter than air, soft enough for only her to hear.

“Why?”

“Because it’s what I’ve always done. Because this is what Christmas _is._ Because Christ-“

“Yes, yes, I know. Because Jesus Christ was born at midnight on this date.” She snaps in an attempt to save herself from the lecture.

“Yes,” he chuckles in amusement. “But also because this is what we did every year, my family and I, for as long as I can remember. Because it reminds me of them: my brother and my sister and my mother. Because sometimes, even if the stories are fantastical, it feels good to have faith in _something.”_

She is quiet after that, as she reflects on his words, and listens to the man at the altar.

And then she sees it.

Tucked away on the other side of the church, sits a small statue. The iconography is immediately recognizable; it’s the Virgin Mary, in her beautiful sky blue robes, holding the baby Jesus in her arms, pressing him to her chest as her understanding eyes look to the heavens. She must have seen hundreds, if not thousands of representations of this very scene, across every medium in endless interpretations. Truthfully, this is not the best depiction she’s ever seen. But for the first time in a very long time, she realizes that she is _here._ For one breathless moment, her body feels like her own again, and the weight of Louis’ arms snuggled against her small frame is a welcome comfort rather than an overwhelming intruder. For a moment, she understands. She does not believe in Christ the Savior, but she believes in Louis. And she feels the same love that she sees in that holy idol within her now. Did Louis’ mother ever hold him like this? Would she ever know?

She doesn’t know much about Louis’ life, but she knows that her birth was a miracle in it’s own right. On the worst of nights, Lestat calls her a mistake, but Louis has never seen it as anything less than a miracle. She also knows that Louis is set in his ways. Unable to free himself of guilt, he clings to those few, precious, safe glimmers of hope he has in this world. He clings to tradition, he clings to his faith, and most of all, he clings to her.

She doesn’t know how long it is until she allows herself to sink back into his arms, but when she does, she feels his chin rest gently on the top of her head, and she knows the white flag has been raised.

“So this is Christmas.” She mumbles.

“It is to me… _joyeux Noël, Claudia._ ” He whispers back into her blonde curls.

“ _Joyeux Noël._ ”


End file.
